Rear Admiral Yurij Radionovitch Zhukov tried to look at the view screen without giving away the uneasiness he experienced in looking at Admiral Gardner. His superior looked back at him somewhat glassy-eyed and Zhukov started to wonder if the pressure of war had led some of the higher-ups into having a drug problem.
"Zhukov, Reed has gone rogue on us and stole Buran. They should show up on your doorstep at any time and I want the whole lot apprehended. They have five Vulcans, one Denobulan, three humans and an Andorian aboard. That should be no problem for a MACO team."
"Aye, Sir. Do we know what Reed's motives are?"
"T'Pol is kicking the bucket because of some of that Vulcan mental malarkey between her and Tucker and Reed has gotten it into his head that it would make a damn difference when he brings her to him. Tucker will croak anyway. It's a waste of time, but he has disobeyed my direct order and went anyway. It's better to let her die, too, so we can make fucking heroes out of both of them."
"With all due respect, Sir!" Zhukov gasped at the cynicism of the supreme commander. "It's not a given that Tucker will die. Doctors Phlox and Lucas have run themselves ragged performing one emergency surgery after the other and only this morning they've updated his status from 'extremely critical' to just 'critical'."
"I've read the reports, Zhukov. He's brain damaged, so even if he survives he'll end up a vegetable. We don't need cripples, we need heroes - human fucking heroes. Why was my order not followed to switch off the fucking machines?"
"We can't," Zhukov said. "We have Tucker's living will. The Sato-Reeds have been nominated to have the last word if he and T'Pol are unable to articulate themselves. And as you might know, Commander Sato-Reed isn't quite willing to become a hero for you. She's very much alive."
"Don't get sassy on me, Ivan," his superior growled, incensed by the sarcastic remark. "You know how hot Gutierrez is on making Commodore and taking your job. You'd better get back to executing my orders – to – the – letter. Did I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Sir," Zhukov said, threatened back into obedience.
"Apprehend that lot and make sure T'Pol accidentally falls out of an airlock. If she's orbiting the station, the Reeds will have no will to execute. Harris can deal with Tucker. And you better make sure nobody ever learns of this call. Harris hates snitches."
"No need to worry, Sir."
=/\=
"Too late, scumbag," Hoshi growled under her breath as she stored the recording on her PADD. They should have known better than messing with the person who had installed most of the communication equipment when they rebuilt the station. She had grown suspicious after Zhukov had 'suggested' turning off the machinery that kept Trip alive. And now, shockingly, her premonition had proved true.
Fighting down the horror about Trip's devastating medical prognosis, she pushed the button to summon Phlox.
"I have no news about Captain Tucker, Hoshi," the doctor told her, pre-empting the question he'd had to answer several times over the last four days. She looked to the right to let him inspect the large cut across the left half of her head that had been stitched. Since large parts of her hair had had to be shaved off for that she had just made them remove the whole lot. Malcolm would freak at the loss of her long mane.
"Bring me to an empty examination room," she whispered when Phlox's head was near enough to hear her. Hearing the Denobulan take a breath to ask something in return, she cut him off.
"Don't ask questions, please, Phlox. Just bring me somewhere where we can talk alone!" she urged him in a whisper and in his native language. She saw the grin wiped off his face. Bless him, Phlox hadn't lost his ability to know when things were serious.
She heard the click of the biobed's brakes as he released them. Holding on to the sides of the bed, holding the blanket up with her teeth, she steadied herself as he pushed her along the corridor.
"Do you need assistance, doctor?" she heard one of the passing Vulcan medics ask, but Phlox deflected the offer easily by ordering the Vulcan to support Dr. Lucas in the ER unit. Go Phlox! she thought in grim amusement.
As soon as they entered the examination room, she awkwardly sat up, wincing at the pain the movement caused. The thin blanket fell off her bare body.
"Phlox, can you somehow wrap me in a bandage, so that this won't break open?" she asked, pointing at the incision site from the surgery that had left her without her damaged spleen and a single kidney. The other kidney was now – hopefully – doing its job in Trip's body.
"Hoshi, what are you doing?" he asked, and she nearly smiled as he took out the bandages anyway. "You're hardly out of surgery. You shouldn't even be getting out of bed yet."
"Starfleet has ordered Zhukov to kill T'Pol," she said in a disgusted voice, starting the replay.
"Stop it!" Phlox demanded half-way into the recording and Hoshi didn't remember ever having seen such a grotesque grimace of rage on the Denobulan's face. She stopped the replay.
"Whatever you plan to do, I will do it myself," he said in grim determination, and she had no doubt about his sincerity,
"No Phlox," the petite linguist said, gently cupping the doctor's face with her hands. "I'm grateful for your offer, but there are hundreds here fighting for their lives. They need you. Just patch me up so I can move without my skin ripping open. You don't know the communications systems anyway."
"Then let me at least get you some clothes first," Phlox said as he wrapped her midriff in a bandage. "You are completely unclothed."
"Trust me Phlox, I have experience being naked," she snorted, pointing at the ceiling. "Just patch me up and help me into the crawl space up there."
Having patched her up, Phlox removed a ceiling panel and jumped back off the biobed. After having taped the PADD to her thigh, Hoshi slung her arms around him and kissed him gently on the ridge that surrounded his right eye.
"Thank you Phlox," she whispered, releasing him from her embrace. She took his PADD and entered a number. "Contact Amanda and Terval on this frequency, tell them to meet me in the sweet spot. Make sure Zhukov doesn't notice. And ask Amanda to bring a uniform for me."
She saw his accepting nod and stepped on his interlaced hands to be hoisted up into the opening.
"Heck," she groaned, as her attempts to crawl up into the cramped space caused pain in the damaged areas of her body. "Trip always joked that I'd streak the station one day."
=/\=
"I'm not going to do that!" Jon shouted back at the image of Rear Admiral Zhukov on the view screen. "I'd rather resign than execute this order. If T'Pol is in danger, she has to be brought to the hospital. That's what Trip and his people built it for, goddammit! I don't care how and why Buran came here."
"Gardner's orders were abundantly clear. First and foremost, the crew of Buran has to be apprehended. What happens with the Vulcan is subject to our decision when the rogue crew is in the brig. Follow your orders or face the consequences, Commodore. Zhukov out."
What was it, Trip once said?" Jon asked lieutenant Kusnezova. "I believe it was fuck off. He even could have done so in Russian."
The Russian lady at the comms console laughed grimly. But is was a laugh of sarcasm, not amusement.
=/\=
Amanda laughed in surprise when a heavily bandaged Hoshi glided up the tube towards the sweet spot. She had expected that Hoshi had discharged herself from hospital in her underwear or one of those open-at-the-back cape jobs people wore after surgery, but the petite Asian came gliding up to them stark naked. Poor Terval was almost spraining a neck muscle in his abashed determination to look away.
"It's okay Terval. It's not like I could compete with your woman," Hoshi groaned as she landed painfully on her butt. Amanda handed her the overall and then helped her remove the PADD she had taped to her thigh and don the garment in the zero G environment. It was visible that the commander was in pain. Bless him, Terval fought down his apprehension and started to help her, too, even if he barely dared to touch the slender woman, keeping any contact to a minimum as if Hoshi's body was made of hot molten lava.
"So what's this all about, Hoshi?" Amanda asked, pulling up the zip of Hoshi's uniform once they had restored modesty and Terval was able to relax.
Wordlessly Hoshi played the recording and Amanda's blood started to boil. Before the recording ended, she produced two phase pistols from the various pockets in her MACO suit, handing them out to Hoshi and her chosen before loading the pulse rifle she was carrying over her shoulder. "We'll take the staion!"
Exchanging a look with Terval, each of them grabbed one of Hoshi's arms and pushed off the ceiling, gliding down through the reduced gravity environment, carrying the wounded commander between them
=/\=
Malcolm wanted nothing more than leave sickbay and get on with the mission, except that it was almost complete. While he had been out cold, recovering from killing his evil alter-ego, T'Len and Solan had made hay and blasted through a Vortex and they were now twelve hours from Salem One at warp five. Something inside him, the feeling that something big was to happen, had kept him here – despite the fact that T'Para was severely interrupting his verbal self-castigation.
"Stop it, young man," the Eldest Mother admonished him impatiently. "You are not to blame for what has transpired. Which part of 'you were violated' is so hard to understand for you without additional guidance?"
"With all due respect madam, you have definitely spent too much time conversing with Trip," Malcolm sighed, letting his head sink back onto the biobed's pillow trying to hide his fear behind biting sarcasm. After all, the old woman had seen his inner thoughts.
"I am laboring under the assumption that it was time well invested," he heard her reply. Somehow it was surreal to lie on a hospital bed a mere half-metre from a woman who basically amounted to the Queen of a huge Vulcan clan, trading sarcastic barbs. He wished the wise old matriarch would just read him the Riot Act.
"Why are you trying so hard to incriminate yourself, young one?" she asked, and he saw her struggling to sit up.
He didn't even try to understand why she seemed to know what he thought. He swayed back and forth as a wave of nausea hit him when he also sat up. The sensation subsided quickly, however, and he found himself in a battle of stares with the matriarch.
"Because I hope someone will punish me for what I have destroyed," he pleaded in anguish. "There is no point in pretending. You've seen my mind, madam – or both minds until recently. You have seen what wonderful gift Trip and T'Pol have given me by offering me their friendship and what did I give in return? I ogled his wife while he was getting mutilated."
"And I thought Charles was illogical," the matriarch replied dryly. "Blaming yourself for what happened to Charles is patently illogical, young one. As a result you also have no reason to consider yourself guilty for what you did at the time. I have followed the life of all four of you since you first contacted me over a year ago. I have seen such closeness only once in my life time. Not even Soval knows about it."
"Except that he will soon," a deadpan reply from behind a privacy screen announced.
"No he won't," a female voice announced and Malcolm stifled a tired laugh as he heard Feezal wheel Soval's biobed out into the corridor. Even the matriarch seemed to be amused in her roundabout way.
"Why do you blame yourself for something that was not avoidable?" she asked, returning to full seriousness.
"Depends on what you deem unavoidable," Malcolm replied. "Me not being with them? Trip getting hurt while I stare at his wife's naked arse? Me developing – how do you say? - an 'affection' for her?"
"I understand your frustration, young one. You are in many ways as unexperienced in dealing with your emotions as T'Pol. The affection for T'Pol you are so displeased with has been with you long before now. You would not have accepted an unspeakable burden like you did at the Tolaris tribunal had it not been with you already. Denial is a powerful force. Believe me, Malcolm, Vulcans are experts in denial."
"Denial is a necessary force here, ma'am," he replied, shaking his head in disbelief about the pseudo-tolerance babble of the matriarch. "I have taken my marriage vows before Hoshi and the world. The moral absolutes we have sworn to uphold have been the very fabric of human society for ages. I can't believe you as a Vulcan would just disregard such things or try to encourage me to do so!"
"Do not assume to know what I am thinking, young man. You remember your wedding day most vividly, which gives me the privilege to know what you have sworn. You have vowed to 'love her, comfort her, to honor her and to keep her in sickness and in health, in prosperity and adversity as long as you both shall live'. Yet you did the same for T'Pol. You risked your own self-respect to enable the trial. You have risked your life for her more than once. You have accepted guaranteed incarceration for stealing the ship in a bid to save her life."
"That's what friends do ma'am." he declared dryly, but in truth he wasn't even sounding convincing to himself.
"Has Hoshi ever called in question your upholding of the vows?"
"No."
"Then why are you blaming yourself? And for what? Your devotion to Hoshi has not diminished in any way, no matter how much closeness has developed between you and T'Pol."
"That's the problem, ma'am. How short is the step from looking at her to touching her? And why do he have this weird conversation? Trip and T'Pol are dying for crying out loud. We shouldn't be here debating whether you want to talk me into disregarding my marriage vows. We should be trying to save them. That's what I risked everything for to begin with!"
Malcolm was getting angry. He had long felt guilty for having more than friendly feelings for his best friend's Vulcan wife. But so far he could rely on the fact that the bond between T'Pol and Trip would be a safeguard. It was the door that kept the predator in the cage. What would protect T'Pol from his forbidden thoughts now? The bond was broken. The door was unlocked. And he felt as if the Eldest mother was trying to poke the beast so it would leap out of the cage.
"This talk is necessary," the matriarch decreed sternly. "You will soon understand that it is the last opportunity to have it. I do not urge you to disregard your vows. You never have done so and you never will. But know this young man. Your vows did not forbid you to uphold the same regard for T'Pol. You would willingly give your life for both, yet you promised only Hoshi to do so. Not the vows you have taken make you the man you are – your actions do.
And as for your insinuation that we waste time instead of saving those that you cherish. I would not have started this conversation were I not convinced that it is needed in the process. All four of you have come to depend on the presence of each other. One part of that presence will be gone. Charles might survive, but he will not be the same as before. He will need all of you."
"It sounds as if you try to talk me into bigamy," Malcolm spat in distaste. "You try to talk me into getting closer to my friend's wife while he fights for his life! That is disgusting!"
"I cannot make you understand yet, young one. And I do not condemn you for holding on to what you believe to be the absolute truth. The four of you have so far done well to find your path in life and I have every hope that you will continue to do so."
"Then why this weird talk, ma'am?" he pleaded. "I'm eternally grateful for what you have done. You undid the damage that the Section did to me. But why do you try to encourage me to continue what I already hate myself for."
"You hate yourself for caring more about T'Pol's well-being than can be expected of a friend?"
"But it's not that I do it – it's why I do it," he indicted himself, desperate that the Eldest played the forgiving part instead of just chewing him out for being a self-centric pig. His voice broke in utter disgust about his own feelings and not for the first time he hoped he could just reign them in like he used to be able to. "You are right! I will go to jail because I … because I love T'Pol. Damn it all, I love her just as much as Hoshi. There was nothing else I could have done!"
"I do regret to have caused you all this pain, young one. But there was no other possible course of action. Instead of incriminating yourself, you have shown to be a most worthy man by being able to cherish both of them. What the future brings is yours to shape. But do remember – they will need you both and both you and Hoshi will be needed to bring strength to T'Pol and her mate for they embark on a most challenging journey. If you do this as friends, if you do this as a unique union of four individuals is a decision that only the 'First Quad' can take."
"You knew?" he asked, before stopping himself when he saw the Vulcan's raised eyebrow. "Of course you knew... the mind-meld."
"I know this conversation will leave you in confusion for a long time, but one day you will make the right decision. Until then, I know you will continue to do all you can to care for those you cherish so much."
"Do you really think he will survive?" Malcolm asked in regard to Trip. He didn't know whether he was waiting for the answer in dread or hope. Even though he had been driven by her to exasperation and anger over the past minutes, he couldn't shake the feeling that he would remember this moment several times in the future and he would ever remember a wise old matriarch caring a lot more for a human than could be expected. And it was she, who had risked her life in a bid to rid him of whatever the Section had done to his mind.
"You might wonder why I am telling you all this, despite your objection," the Eldest began. "The truth is, young one, my time has come. I could probably survive a few more years in this... frail body that has served my katra for two hundred and four years, but that would mean the death of T'Pol. The ritual I am preparing to perform to reconvene the two children will almost inevitably lead to my death. That is why we had to speak now, even if you were not prepared for it."
"T'Para, no!" he said in a voice of pain and following an impulse he took her calloused hands in his.
He looked at her in shock when he realized what he had done. She looked back at him and he saw a softness in her eyes that he had always missed in the eyes of his own parents.
"It has been half a century since someone just took my hands without fearing me," the old woman said softly. "Which makes my decision to choose you to be entrusted with this information the right one."
The Englishman looked at her, still clutching her hands, and fought the urge to cry. It felt as if he spoke to his much beloved grandmother Gwyneth on her deathbed all over again. He had lost her way too early and was left to suffer through life with his unfeeling parents,
"I sense your pain, young one," she said, still with that unusual softness in her voice. "Do not mourn my demise. I have served my purpose in life and my katra will be preserved. You will now need all your strength to help Charles, T'Pol and Hoshi. Even if he survives, his life will not be without great challenges and he will need the support of all three of you; and I am relying on you to keep an eye on T'Pau. The young one needs guidance still."
"That's a tall order, madam," Malcolm struggled to say as tears threatened his composure.
"I know, young one, but you can master it. Would you now please bring me to your ship's meditation chamber?"
He nodded wordlessly and released the brakes on her biobed. As a few silent tears ran down his face, he pushed the biobed with the exhausted matriarch on it through the corridors of Buran.
=/\=
"Fuck it, I'll resign," Jon growled, starting towards his ready room, but his communications officer stopped him.
"Commodore, we have an incoming communication, fleet-wide. Unauthorized, but definitely coming from Salem One."
Jon flicked his hand, pointing towards the view screen. The day couldn't get any weirder anyway. He gasped at the scene that unfolded before them. An unknown Vulcan and Amanda Cole pointed weapons at Rear Admiral Zhukov, who was gagged and bound. Next to him stood Hoshi, her face littered with bruises, her head shaven bald and dominated by an ugly, freshly stitched cut.
"This is Lieutenant-Commander Hoshi Sato-Reed speaking to First Fleet. As I am speaking, the UCS Buran is on approach to Salem One. Starfleet has ordered your fleet to apprehend them, but I think it is worthy of notice that you are also ordered to facilitate the murder of Captain T'Pol of Vulcan."
Jon watched in naked shock, not only at the badly battered state of Hoshi. Stunned into silence, he watched the recording of the talk between Gardner and Zhukov that Hoshi played to all ships.
'Why was my order not followed to switch off the fucking machines?... He's brain damaged, so even if he survives he'll end up a vegetable. We don't need cripples, we need heroes - human fucking heroes... make sure T'Pol accidentally falls out of an airlock. If she's orbiting the station, the Reeds will have no will to execute. Harris can deal with Tucker.'
Jon wanted to howl in rage and agony, but bit it down with all of his strength. A burning rage boiled inside him about Starfleet's betrayal.
"Incoming from the Vulcans..." his comms officer said, "and the Andorians, and our ships."
"Vulcans," Jon croaked, barely able to hold on to consciousness and coherent thought, blinded by rage, yet trying to keep up a controlled manner in front of his bridge crew.
"First Minister Soval, who happens to be aboard the ship Buran,has authorized us to render any assistance that Lieutenant-Commander Sato-Reed may request," Sopek reported calmly.
"Stand by," Jon said with a nod, before looking back at his comms officer. "Andorians?"
"The Andorian Imperial Guard stands by for your orders as long as they are against what we have just seen," a middle-aged Andorian captain reported. His antennae were plastered to his head in disgust. Jon nodded and asked the Andorian to also stand by.
"Starfleet ships?"
"Pink-skin! We are not letting them do that, are we?" Shran raged aboard Challenger.
"No we aren't," Jon said, his mind still numb from what he'd heard.
"Lieutenant, give me all fleet on channel one and the station on channel two."
The officer nodded.
"Lieutenant-Commander Sato-Reed," he declared towards the image of Hoshi, which took up the right half of the screen. "Prepare to surrender the station to First Fleet and free a docking port to receive Buran. Send Zhukov to the... presidential suite." He pronounced the latter with all disgust he could pour into his voice.
"The station surrenders unconditionally," Hoshi said and Jon basked in the joy of seeing her heartwarming smile again for the first time since he'd left Enterprise, even if it was tainted by the many bruises on her face. It eradicated at least some of the burning rage inside him.
=/\=
The Eldest turned away to afford them a minimum of privacy, indicating T'Pau to do so as well, while Malcolm and Hoshi had an emotional reunion.
The young Vulcan had spent a lot of energy sustaining T'Pol thus far, and it was imperative that the ritual would be conducted soon. To many other Vulcans it would have been scandalous that the young one leaned heavily onto Charles's father for support, allowing him to wrap his arm around her, but it gave T'Para the necessary calm to face her inevitable demise, knowing that the young one had affectionate clan members prepared to care for her well-being. That they were human was inconsequential. If anything it was perhaps fortunate.
She looked at the Denobulan doctor who came to explain the situation to them. That it was grave was not necessary to explain. His face clearly showed it. There was barely enough un-bandaged skin on Charles's head to initiate a mind meld in the first place and his whole lower body was covered in a myriad of casts and scaffolding. It was obvious that the medics had spent an inordinate amount of effort to keep the young Human's body intact without having to amputate any limbs.
"What's the prognosis, doctor?" she heard Malcolm ask. "The truth – please. The full truth."
"There is little I can say for sure," the Denobulan explained, and the Eldest noticed that the alien was struggling desperately not to show his emotions. They certainly weren't of a positive nature. "He has suffered multiple skull fractures, comminuted fractures in both legs and the hip, severe cerebral hemorrhages, spine injuries. I'm surprised he is still alive. He will unlikely to be able to... see ever again. The visual cortex has suffered severe damage. Even if we can save his legs, I doubt he will be able to use them. We are still working on restoring as many functions of his lower body as possible. We have induced an artificial coma, but with damage as widespread as that, it will take months before his brain regains consciousness and I can't even guarantee that he will be able to wake up at all, even though I am moderately optimistic. It will not be easy for him in any case."
By the time he had finished his report, the alien had nearly succumbed to tears. The Eldest turned around to see Hoshi start sobbing loudly, gently held by Malcolm. The challenges in Charles's life would be greater than anticipated. Her theory that Hoshi had developed an affection for Charles had proved true, as she could sense the unspeakable pain, but also the grim determination radiating off the human female. It was now a question of whether the children would be able to heal to their lives. Their unique union was going to be challenged by fate – the most fearsome opponent possible. But unfortunately she had to leave them to fend for themselves, as it would take her life to make sure all four of them would survive in the first place.
Not waiting any further, T'Para, swaying unsteadily on her feet due to the exhaustion from the mind-meld with Malcolm, placed her fingers on the faces of Trip and T'Pol and closed her eyes.
=/\=
T'Pol struggled to get on her feet, her body feeling weak and exhausted. As she stood up she took in the scenery around her and wondered why she had been left alive. The battle had been lost, all buildings around her reduced to smoking piles of rubble. An unnaturally colored sky bore witness to the devastation that had come to her world.
She staggered and stumbled through the debris, with no purpose and no aim, her face stained with blood and grime until she heard a voice, lamenting:
'He fight and he pray, he love and he bleed
To no satisfaction, was note as need
And when he walks, stands tall as he can
For he's a man, yeah, he's a man
And when he crumbles, resolve to the ground
Like burnt bits of paper, life flutters round
All eyes turn away, no one wants to see
A man who has lost, in the fight to be free…'
Following the voice she found a diminutive female among the debris, kneeling unclothed, her body battered, full of bruises and scars on her torso and her bald head. She was lamenting a body lying before her, holding his bloodied hand. In horror T'Pol recoiled as she saw the body. It was Trip! His eyes were missing, blood trickling from the two empty holes in his head. He groaned in unspeakable agony, unable to articulate himself, yet the female held on to him in devotion. Sinking to her knees, T'Pol took his other hand, clutching it, mirroring what the other female did. It was Hoshi.
'In the back of his mind is a smiling face
The one who said, "You know, it's no race"
The one who said, "You got time to breathe"
'Cause child you're born, we're all born free
In the back of his mind is the back of a room
So dust enshrouded and no dust broom
Stands a chance to clear the cobwebs away
So live in the back, in the dark it'll stay…'
=/\=
Malcolm lunged forward when the Eldest sank to the ground with a pain-filled groan. Cradling the old Vulcan in his arms, he shook her, unwilling to accept the inevitable.
"T'Para, no!" he pleaded. "No!"
"T'Pau," she demanded with a weak voice, and the young Vulcan raced to her side. Malcolm helped the old woman put her fingers on T'Pau's face.
"Vokau, T'Pau-kan, Vokau," the matriarch whispered, expending the last energy of her long life.
Malcolm started to cry helplessly as life left the body of the Eldest Mother, even as he held her in his arms.
=/\=
Sam Gardner woke up and groaned as the hideous headache he'd been nursing since last night was still there. He wasn't surprised that the other half of the bed was empty. For the first time in over twenty years he had forgotten their wedding anniversary. Women were not inclined to forgive such an offense, even if it happened for the first time in two decades.
He stumbled out of the bed and shuffled into the kitchen where Laura was peeling potatoes for lunch.
"Morning, darling," he groaned as he staggered towards the bathroom to make himself presentable and procrastinate a little longer before the apology.
As he prepared to shave, he ran the back of his fingers over the stubble in confusion. It looked like he hadn't shaved in two or three days, but he never forgot to shave. But then he had never forgotten their anniversary either. A jolt of panic gripped him. His father had died of Alzheimer's, as had his grandfather. Was it now his turn to descend slowly into dementia? Sure they could delay the decay these days, but even after more than a century, there was no cure for this horrible desease.
It was one of the questions one didn't want an answer for, but he was the acting Commander in Chief, so there was no way he could avoid a stop-over at Starfleet Medical – as if the day could get any worse.
He wiped the last remnants of shaving foam of his face, splashed it with aftershave and prepared to grovel.
=/\=
When he came into the living room he stopped as he saw an unexpected visitor. Commodore Falkner, the Chief of Starfleet Security, stood next to his wife and was pointing a pulse rifle directly at him.
"Ok, the day could get worse," Gardner sarcastically finished his earlier thoughts aloud. "Falkner, I take it you have a reason to come to my home and point a weapon at me?"
"Answer me one question, Sam. Why did you order Zhukov to kill Captain T'Pol?"
Gardner shook his head in disbelief and looked at his wife, hoping she'd get the unspoken message to get out of the house. Falkner had clearly lost his mind.
"Are you crazy, Art? I haven't spoken to Zhukov in weeks! Is that something Reed has told you?"
"What does Reed have to do with it?" Falkner asked and Gardner saw him transfer the weapon to the other hand, but still firmly pointing in his direction.
"Well he wanted to run off to Salem One and was completely out of it yesterday, calling himself Hadrian or something. You should know that, I alarmed your staff."
Gardner watched, confused, as Falkner put the weapon down.
"Sam, that was almost five days ago," the Dutchman said in visible shock.
Gardner carefully and slowly walked towards the couch, not taking his eyes off the Dutchman in case he would grab the weapon again.
"Okay," he ventured, slowly lowering himself onto the piece of furniture as to not present a threat to Falkner. "Either I am missing four days of my life or you are desperately in need of help, Art."
The Dutchman sat into one of the armchairs and Gardner relaxed as the weapon remained on the kitchen counter – out of reach for both of them.
"Laura, did you notice something weird about me in the last few days?" Sam asked his wife, feeling completely lost.
"Other than you sleeping in the office and coming home only one single time in five days to give me a hideously expensive anniversary gift?" she asked back dryly, showing him a box with a diamond ring in it.
"The headache...," Gardner said. "It must have something to do with it. If I stayed in the office all those days, why am I here now?"
"I brought you home and kept an eye on you," Falkner said. "The entire First Fleet mutinied yesterday after Hoshi Reed leaked a recording of you ordering T'Pol's and Tucker's murder. I thought if you'd been drugged it might not be gone yet, but the medics checked you and found nothing – well, except that your brain scan looked as if you'd slept with your fingers in the electrical socket."
"I- I d-did what?"
=/\=
Samuel William Gardner was hyperventilating by the time the recording had ended. Laura was crying helplessly.
"Art, we must find out what happened to me!" he urged, putting on his uniform jacket.
"Leave the jacket here, Sam," Falkner said calmly. "We've both been discharged dishonorably without any fanfare. Last night, as a matter of fact."
"Well, my discharge I can understand after ...this," Gardner said, letting the jacket drop to the floor and pointing at the view screen. "But you?"
"Needless to say they were calling for your head on a platter," Falkner recalled. "And I helped you run. They didn't like that much."
"And you took me HOME? That's the first place they're going to look for me."
"That's the last place they're going to look for you after both your and Laura's life-signs registered on a shuttle flight to Russia. They're currently turning the taiga upside down near Plesetsk. That'll keep them busy for a few days."
Gardner looked at his former security chief, dumbfounded. "How?"
"Ask Laura how she got a few live cells with your DNA out of you. I suppose it's a bit of a private affair," Falkner said dryly.
Gardner groaned in embarrassment, before he remembered a detail from the recording.
"What about Harris? I 'said' he'll deal with Tucker..."
"Mr. Harris appears to have gone missing," Falkner said, still ice-calm. "We need to find out what happened to you."
"Damn right," Gardner said, and fetched his private weapon from the safe.